


Of Monsters and Men

by blueeyesandpie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anti-Donald Trump, Cas knows Dean very well indeed, Dean knows Cas very well indeed, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Canon, Presidential Election, making up after a break up, post-canon but no specific s15 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:07:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27393967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueeyesandpie/pseuds/blueeyesandpie
Summary: Fighting God and the Devil, killing Death, being a Prince of Hell and getting stuck in Purgatory have absolutely nothing on election night at the Bunker.Thankfully, not everything is terrible.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 27
Kudos: 107





	1. Chapter 1

It’s been five hours since election results started coming in, and Dean hasn’t stopped moving.

Cas follows him to the kitchen first, where he helps Dean peel and slice apples, and listens patiently as his righteous man explains (with expansive hand gestures) how to make a proper pie crust. The apples go in a bowl with sugar and cinnamon, then both fruit and crust go in the fridge to chill.

They go to the garage next. Cas knows better than to touch Baby when Dean’s in this kind of mood, but he helps in other ways: the correct tools on hand, cold beer on the workbench, and warm, soapy water and dry towels available long after Dean should have had to replace them. 

Dean doesn’t say anything about it, but Cas doesn’t expect him to. Dean is rarely one for words in such situations, but his body speaks volumes enough for an angel to read. He carries less tension in his frame when they leave the garage than he did before they entered it, and that’s all Cas needs. 

They find Sam in the library with Eileen. Sam has his arm around Eileen’s shoulders, his hand rubbing her upper arm in a way that is probably as comforting to him as it is to her. 

When Dean and Cas enter, Sam barely looks up from the screen, but Eileen straightens and takes a drink from her beer with a no-nonsense look in her eye. 

“The AP called Florida for Trump,” Sam says.

Cas can _feel_ Dean shift from “about to lose it” to “protective big brother.” It’s an awe-inspiring thing, really, how quickly this man can set aside his own discomfort to take care of Sam. 

“We’re going to win, Sammy,” he says with a sense of certainty and bravado that Cas _knows_ Dean does not feel. “Texas can get fucked.”

“Imagine if it had stayed blue, though. Or Kansas…?”

Eileen makes a universally rude gesture. “Dream on, big guy,” she says teasingly, though lovingly. 

Sam stares at her for a moment before his whole body slumps forward to the table top. “I hate this,” he mutters into his laptop keyboard. 

Cas repeats the statement for Eileen’s benefit, and she sighs. “Me too,” she says.

They leave soon after, Dean’s concern for his brother mitigated, for now, by Eileen’s presence.

“I hate this,” Dean echoes when they reach his bedroom. He has his phone out, staring at the live election map like he thinks it will jump out and attack him. “How can so many people vote for that...that…” he struggles for the right word, and eventually gives up with a disgruntled curse.

It’s clear he doesn’t really want an answer, so Cas sits on the bed and watches him pace. 

“We defeated _Chuck_ ,” Dean says after a while. He tucks his phone into his pocket and collapses next to Cas, staring up at the ceiling with his hands over his head. “I’ve been a Knight of Hell. I’ve been to places and defeated entities these evil sons of bitches don’t really believe exist. All this time I’ve thought supernatural creatures were the problem, but the real monsters were here all along, weren’t they? How is it that I can kill Death, but I can’t stop a demented Troll doll from taking America straight back to Hell?” 

He’s confused and hopeless and hurting, so much so that Cas gives into impulse and reaches for him, his fingers brushing over Dean’s face with a familiarity he hasn’t allowed himself to express since before Mary’s death. It’s a risk, of course; if he judges Dean’s mood incorrectly, this could end very poorly indeed. 

Static sparks trail behind his touch, and each faint light brings with it a little hope. 

“You aren’t personally responsible for every battle that humans must fight, Dean,” he says, his hand settling to cup Dean’s cheek. “If he wins, it isn’t your fault.” 

Dean scoffs and rolls his eyes, and Cas starts to pull his hand back. 

To his surprise, Dean catches it with both his, pushing it back against his face. The walls around Dean’s soul seem to crack and crumble, leaving a frightened human in need, his eyes filled with something that Cas dares not examine too closely.

“Cas,” Dean says in a voice brimming with emotion. “Please,” He reaches for the front of Cas’s coat and yanks with all his strength. 

Cas leans against the pull at first. If Dean wants to be close again then they need to talk; they need to discuss the hurt and pain that kept them apart when they should have been closest. They need—

“I can’t do this without you,” Dean whispers in a broken voice, his eyes gleaming in the light of the tableside lamp. “We can talk later. I swear. Just...please?”

All resistance fails. Cas finds himself on top of Dean in an instant, their bodies awkwardly positioned but their faces mere inches apart. He shifts his weight to put one hand on Dean’s chest, and can feel his heart pounding, ragged and overwhelmed, just beneath his palm. 

“Tell me it will be okay,” Dean says, and by his tone he could mean the election or their relationship; possibly both. Cas meets Dean’s gaze and amends his assessment. _Probably_ both, mixed with guilt that he wants something for himself so badly in the midst of this greater crisis. 

Cas loves this stupid, selfless, broken man more than the most talented poet could hope to express. 

“It will be okay,” Cas says, with such certainty that Dean actually smiles, hope rekindled behind the green eyes staring up at him in something akin to wonder. 

“ _We_ will be okay,” Cas adds, and lowers himself enough to brush his lips against Dean’s freckled forehead in a caress as delicate as a spring breeze. 

They kiss, after, Dean’s face tilting up to accept and encourage the intimate gesture as it has so many times in the past. Their mouths and hands re-explore and re-learn first tentatively, then with more certainty. Cas’s grace soars and expands with each caress, weaving through Dean’s soul and reclaiming what is _his_ with ferocious intent.

Some amount of time passes before Dean pushes Cas away, a wide smile on his face and his eyes lit up from within by something Cas can’t identify. He has one hand buried in Cas’s hair, the other holding him up by the shoulder. The tension of being both pushed and pulled in Dean’s grasp is delightful; Cas suppresses a shiver at the sensation.

“I love you,” Sincerity ripples through Dean’s voice, each word vibrant with it. 

Cas is so surprised his arms give out and he topples forward, smashing Dean into the mattress with his weight. 

_I love you._

Cas flounders. 

_I_ love _you._

He has known of Dean’s love for years, so that part is no surprise. It had been a tentative light at first, but gained strength and warmth over the years until it shone through even their bleakest moment. It was there, always, a beacon Cas could feel across galaxies if need be, but he had never thought to hear the words spoken out loud. Dean simply wasn’t the sort, or so he had told himself.

_I love you._

“Shoulda told you sooner,” Dean mutters, “Couldn’t though, was too afraid,” He has his hand wormed up under Cas’s shirt, calloused fingers drawing patterns on Cas’s back. “You okay?” he asks after a bit, his voice rough with nerves. “Say something, sweetheart.”

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas replies senselessly, hopelessly lost in the storm of feeling inside him. He moves, then, seeking, and when their mouths seal together, it feels like coming home. 

They spend some time re-learning each other’s bodies. What Cas feels as their caresses grow more intimate is deep and slow, nothing like the flash-fire passion of their prior encounters. Lingering touches and murmured endearments pull them along at an unhurried pace, until at last they reach the brink and topple over, gasping and laughing and swearing all at once.

Dean seems to fall asleep sometime after midnight, sweaty face pressed against Cas’s chest and his arm slung over Cas’s waist. Cas is content to run his hand through Dean’s hair, or trace the freckles he can see, or simply hold him close. This night is such a greater gift than he ever expected to receive that he can’t quite believe it is real.

“I love you,” he whispers into the darkness. It seems safe to say so, now, if a little cowardly. 

“I know,” Dean murmurs with a pleased chuckle, his arm tightening around Cas’s body. “Always have.” He falls asleep for real soon after, and Cas lets himself drift in hope as he never has before.

It’s nearly noon when Dean returns to the waking world. 

Cas watches him with both immense love and a pragmatic, albeit painful, awareness that his human might very well decide yesterday evening didn’t happen. If that is the case, trying to force the matter will cause more problems than it would solve, but he’s not sure he can handle being pushed away again. 

Dean tilts his head upward as he blinks himself away. “G’morning sweetheart,” he grumbles in a sleep-roughened voice. “Thought I’d kick you out, didn’t you.”

“Oh, shut up,” Cas snaps in a frantic attempt to hide his real fear with pretend affront. 

“Sorry man, not my style,” Dean says. He nuzzles against Cas’s shoulder, leaving a trail of kisses up his neck that burn hot in the cool room.

“ _Fuck_.” 

Dean nips at him with a pleased chuckle. “Damn you’re sexy when you swear.” 

After a few minutes of lazily making out, Dean huffs impatiently and pulls away. “Food,” he explains, sounding exasperated with such a mundane need. “Last time I ate was…” he blinks as he searches his memory.

“Breakfast yesterday,” Cas supplies helpfully. “Unless you count a twelve pack of beer as a meal. I do not.”

Dean gives him such a disgruntled look that Cas throws his head back and laughs. 

When they get to the kitchen—Dean in his dead guy robe with beard burn on his neck, Cas with his tie undone and his hair an incriminating mess—it’s to find Eileen cooking an enormous amount of breakfast food while sipping from a cup of coffee the size of her head. 

“About time,” is all she says, after giving them both a very thorough once over. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean demands.

“Nothing,” she says with wide-eyed innocence. “Breakfast?” 

Food successfully diverts Dean from his defensive curiosity; Cas watches with amusement as he loads up on eggs, bacon, pancakes, a biscuit and coffee, apparently unaware of the suggestive gestures and amused faces Eileen is making behind his back. 

“What’s going on with the election?” Dean asks once he’s settled at the table.

“Michigan, Wisconsin, and Nevada were leaning blue when I woke up.”

“So we’re gonna win this thing after all?” Dean asks in a wondering tone. “Maybe there is a God.” 

“If so, I hope it’s a new one. I’d hate to think it was Chuck you were yelling about last night,” Sam observes from the door. The smirk on his face as he heads for the food says he knows he’s baiting Dean and can’t wait for the fall out.

Dean just leans back in his chair, and something about him reminds Cas of the Dean from ten years before, the one who took him to a strip club on the eve of the supposed Apocalypse because no one deserved to die a virgin. “Get a sound machine, Sammy,” Dean says in a wicked tone. “You’re gonna need it before Cas is done with me.”

Cas chokes on his coffee, Eileen starts laughing, and Sam throws a biscuit directly at Dean’s head all at once. Outright chaos erupts, good-natured teasing and laughter filling the Bunker for quite some time.

Later that afternoon, when Sam and Eileen have stopped teasing them enough to congratulate them on their decision to ‘get on with it,’ Dean and Cas go back to the kitchen to finish making the pie.

“It’s not actually helpless, is it?” Dean says thoughtfully, as his fingers crimp the top and bottom crusts together. “The whole President thing, I mean. If we win this one we get a little reprieve, but the storm will be back in a few years. It always is, ya know? If the turnip wins, well—that’s what we’re here for. Me and Sammy and you and Eileen and all the rest. We’re here to fight evil and keep people safe, right? No one ever said the evil couldn’t be human made.” 

He pops the pie in the oven, then crosses his arms and leans against it as he faces Cas once more. “What do you think, Cas? Think a bunch of salty hunters could do some good out there?”

Cas can’t help the broad smile that crosses his face. “Definitely.”


	2. In the Kitchen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This last week has been quite a century so this is 100% comfort writing for me.

It's Saturday morning, and Dean is teaching Cas how to make an omelet properly. He’s saying something about temperature, but their bodies are pressed together from shoulder to groin and it’s all Cas can do to stay on task. 

He wants to turn around, sweep the mixing bowl and cutting board off the counter and push Dean down. He wants to ravage freckled skin with his lips and teeth, pull Dean’s hair, work his hands down Dean’s body until  _ his _ human makes that deep-throated groan that he’s only ever made for Cas.

It’s an intense visual, so much so that he actually jumps when Dean spins him in place and plants a kiss on his nose.

“You didn’t hear a word I just said, did you?” 

Cas rolls his eyes. “Don’t play innocent with me, Dean.” 

There’s probably some irony in an angel being unable to resist temptation, but Cas doesn’t care. He kisses Dean, and while they kiss, he shifts and shuffles without breaking until he has Dean pushed up against the fridge. He starts pushing at the layers of clothing between them, eager for the feel of soft skin, but Dean stops him, fingers wrapped iron-tight around Cas’s wrist. 

A breath later, Dean shoves up with his hips and flips them, pinning Cas against the cold metal with one hand above his head. There they pause, faces inches apart and tension crackling in the air. 

“The eggs will burn,” he says, breathless. 

“I turned the stove off,” Dean replies, his free hand running down Cas’s side, worming between them to toy with Cas’s belt buckle.

“You can’t actually hold me,” Cas’s voice is more uneven than he had hoped, and he can’t rip his gaze from Dean’s mouth. “I could kick your ass.” 

Dean laughs, his eyes crinkling up and his head leaning back. “Do it,” he says, leaning forward. His mouth closes around Cas’s ear lobe then, teeth nipping into skin and sending hot lines of  _ want _ ripping through Cas’s body. “I dare you,” he whispers.

While Cas is still considering the heated promise in that statement (and the physical reaction he's having to Dean undoing his buttons), a shout rattles through the Bunker. 

Sam’s voice is loud and unrelenting; a moment later he bursts into the kitchen waving his phone like it might explode, still shouting incoherently.  “He won,” Sam exclaims, skidding to a halt on the opposite side of the island. He looks down at his phone, finger flicking as he scrolls through whatever information he’s reading. “The AP called Pennsylvania, look at that! We  _ won _ .” Sam holds out his phone as if expecting they could see what’s on the tiny screen from ten feet away. 

“Holy shit dude, that’s amazing!” 

“I’m so glad,” Cas says, and he is. He can feel tension draining out of Dean, all the unspoken worries and fears he’s carried about this one battle he could not fight finally losing their grip on him, and it honestly wouldn’t matter if the world were on fire, that would be enough for Cas.

“We’ll have a time of it before January,” Sam observes, “ but after...maybe a little peace, finally.” His voice gets wistful. “Maybe we can just  _ be  _ for a while.”

Sam seems lost in hopeful reverie; when he shakes him back to the present, he seems to realize what he walked in on for the first time. “Oh my  _ God _ ,” he groans, shoving one hand into his hair and looking at them both with the most exasperated expression Cas has ever seen. “Dean. In the kitchen? Seriously?” 

Cas looks between them, a brief war raging between his sense of duty and the part of him that has watched and waited and wanted and loved for  _ way too long _ . Then he thinks about Dean:  _ I dare you _ . 

“We were just leaving,” Cas growls decisively. He shoves Dean away by one shoulder, then using the same hand to grip his shirt, pulls him toward the door. 

“Don’t hurt yourself with manners or anything,” Sam calls after them. “Assholes.”

Dean starts laughing as they stumble down the hall together, and after a moment, Cas joins him. 

It’s a good day to be alive.


End file.
